


Where Our Voices Sound

by jaeger_fly, onlyoneday



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: All the fucking hybrids, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bird/Human Hybrids, Body Modification, Cat/Human Hybrids, Doves, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Forced Servitude, I'm not sure what tag you use for sex with a merman with no cock, M/M, Merpeople, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeger_fly/pseuds/jaeger_fly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyoneday/pseuds/onlyoneday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where mythical creatures are real and, advanced body modifications to mimic them are a feat of science but also widely popular. As is the barely legal slavery that comes with it. And buying an Entertainer's Contract is one step over the line from Illegal to common place. You get the weird, the wonderful, the down right awe inspiring. It costs money, sure, but you can also make a hell of a lot of money if you harness it properly. </p><p>Which Lucky 7, Australia's most premium luxury hotel and casino, has made an empire out of doing. </p><p>It only gets awkward when the contracts don't quite match up and your sleazy but business savvy younger brother is in charge of securing the assets.</p><p>AKA That one where Raleigh is a Merman and that absolutely doesn't stop Chuck from falling for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chuck's uncle, Scott Hansen, is a piece of shit.

 

Actually, you know what - that's being a little bit too nice. 

 

He's a worthless human being and if someone just put him out of his misery Chuck's pretty sure the rest of the world would be a whole lot happier for it. 

Either that, or they wouldn’t notice. Scott had a tendency to be a slippery fucker – announcing his presence when he was obviously not wanted but then sliding past detection when certain people were looking for him.

Problem was, there wasn't anyone with enough fucking guts to off the asshole. Since Scott happened to be Chuck’s uncle, that meant he was Herc Hansen's _brother_ and Herc’s so far up the food chain that there wasn't any going after family members without fear of serious repercussion - shit worse than death, Chuck's heard, and so that meant that Scott was sticking around for the long haul.

 

"Fuckin' great," he mumbles, stuffing his hands in his jeans pocket as a huge crate is carried into the unloading zone. "The fuck did he buy _this_ time?"

 

Chuck's the 'receiver' for all deliveries and exports at Lucky 7; he keeps track of what comes and goes, makes sure (at Herc's orders, because Scott had exactly zero scruples) that everything that comes into the casino and hotel is _legal_ and everything that goes out is accounted for and well documented. Chuck knows that not just any idiot could keep track of shit like this and that's why he's stuck here, but he can't help but feel like he's been slighted somehow, like he's being punished by his old man by being sent to a metaphorical 'corner'.

 

"Sign here, Mr. Hansen," the delivery guy says, passing Chuck a clipboard that Chuck takes, but doesn't sign.

 

"What is it?" He wants to know, watching the crate marked FRAGILE - DO NOT DROP is carted past him. "I'm not signing for shit if I don't know what it is."

 

The man - Parker Jones, the embroidered name tag reads - sighs and lifts his shoulders, gesturing behind him.

 

"Kid, I don't know. I have a whole truck full of boxes that I'm not legally allowed to open. Whatever it is, is from Chau's Auction House. That's what the return address says."

 

Chuck scowls.

 

If there's anything he definitely doesn't want to deal with, it's shit that Uncle Scotty bought from fuckin' _Chau_. That meant it was more than likely illegal and it was more than likely going to end up a huge pain in Chuck’s ass to dispose of.

 

Chuck pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, and signs a name that isn’t his. Parker glances down, then back up at Chuck, but he doesn’t say anything. The goddamn thing is signed for, it’s not his fault if this brat forged the document.

 

"Great," Chuck tells the man sarcastically. "It's probably a goddamn dinosaur or some shit."

 

Parker's hands lift in a passive, _don’t blame me_ gesture.

 

"I'm just the delivery guy, kid. You get to deal with whatever's in that box. I'm out. C'mon, boys."

 

Parker’s men hop back onto the delivery truck and the driver's side door slams shut. The truck rumbles out of sight, leaving Chuck with a massively heavy box and a whole lot of fucking questions.

 

"Wonderful," he mutters, scuffing the ground with his shoe and throwing the huge crate an accusing look. "This is just fucking wonderful."

 

* * *

 

It takes Chuck a few hours to get enough people to help him get the goddamn box inside -- whatever is in it is fucking _heavy_ , and there just aren’t enough people that can lift it. He ends up having to get a fucking forklift to get it out of the docking bay and into the warehouse, and he's gotta wonder just how many of Parker's men had been Modded to lift heavy shit because his guys?

 

Can't pick this fucker up.

 

“Put it over here,” Chuck instructs the forklift driver, gesturing to a corner of the warehouse that’s dark and not well lit. He’s going to have to open the thing when no one else is around, just in case it’s something really bad and he has to dispose of it immediately.

 

He has a sinking feeling that he might need his pistol for this, and it’s with a heavy heart that he leaves the men to it and treks back inside and through the main lobby and up to his personal suite for a moment of respite, a shot (or two) of whiskey, and his gun.

 

This is the worst part of Chuck’s job – dealing with Scott’s fuckups. Half the time, the asshole buys a bunch of pointless shit that Chuck can just dump into the incinerator or dispose of easily – illegal drugs, weapons. Shit like that.

 

But recently, he’s been on this kick about buying modded people – and they don’t always come out right. Chuck’s not sure who is running quality assurance at Chau’s but if this one has two heads and is screeching inhumanly in pain and begging for death, Chuck’s going straight to the auction house and putting a bullet in Chau’s head himself. He is _not_ on cleanup duty for Chau or Scott or _anyone_ and if he has to put some poor modded sod out of its misery again—

 

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him myself,” Chuck snarls to the glass of whiskey – Old Number 7, he prefers Makers Mark but this’ll do in a pinch – before downing it, shoving the gun into his waistband and covering it with his shirt and heading out and back downstairs.

 

He meets Scott in the elevator. He’s drunk, smells like straight Scotch and he slings his arms around Chuck’s shoulders and he _leers_ , gets too close to Chuck.

 

“Charlie-boy,” he slurs, smirking and hanging all over him. It takes everything he has to _not_ punch him in the face.

 

“Y’get my delivery, kid? ‘S gonna be a good on, ‘m tellin’ ya—“

 

“You fuckin’ stink,” Chuck tells him, and he shoves Scott off, sends him stumbling across the elevator where he slams into the metal wall. “And yeah, I got your goddamn delivery. You order one more fuckin’ thing from Chau and I’m gonna end you.” It always ends badly.

 

“What’re you talkin’ about, Charlie-boy? Those bird people’re a fuckin’ _hit_.”

 

“They’re also slaves.”

 

Scott waves a hand, unconcerned.

 

“But you make ‘em happy, Chuckie, don’t ya?”

 

“You can’t make fucking slaves _happy_ , Scott. They’re _slaves_.”

 

Goddamn moron.

 

“Whatever. They pretty the place up. Besides, modded slaves aren’t illegal. Y’know that.”

 

“It’s disgusting.”

 

People altering their bodies like that – or having it altered _for_ them - then ending up sold for some kind of profit? It fucking churns Chuck’s stomach.

 

Part of the problem with Chau and Scott – Chuck’s pretty sure they have some kind of sick ass arrangement where Scott gets a cheap price on all the ones that are fucked up in some way, mentally, physically – whatever, and that means Scott can basically do whatever the hell he wants to with ‘em.

 

It all sends a chill through Chuck’s body and he has to force himself not to pull the gun on Scott right here in the elevator. Scott, to his credit, seems to sense the change in atmosphere and doesn’t say much else during the ride down.

 

Before Chuck can corner him and make him come along, Scott disappears and Chuck curses, then heads back out to the warehouse by himself, snarling at everyone to clear the fuck out, he’s got one of Scott’s messes to clean up.

 

The lights flicker and dim and Chuck stands there in front of the crate with a camping lantern and a crowbar, glaring at it as if it personally wronged him.

 

“Right,” he mutters, “time to get to work.”

 

He sets the lantern down, and goes about prying the crate open with the crowbar, jerking away heavy pieces of wood and working up a hell of a sweat before he’s finally got the goddamn thing open.

 

What’s revealed puzzles him. It looks like a fucking empty fishtank, and Chuck, curious, picks the lantern up and comes closer, shining it a little inside.

 

“Hello? Anyone in there?”

 

The _fuck_ did Scott end up with?


	2. Chapter 2

Raleigh Becket wasn't always a slave. He'd had a normal life, a normal family. A middle of the road average American. His mother passed from cancer and then his father left and then it was just them. The Becket Children. Alone and poor and struggling. 

It had been an opportunity to swoop in and gather them up. 

Shh, you're going to be alright. Come and work for us. We'll put you through school. We'll keep you together. 

And what other choice did they have? So they agreed. 

They signed their lives away to uncertain indentured servitude and the ink wasn't even dry when the loop holes were poked and Jaz was ripped away from them. The boys are old enough to be considered 'responsible for themselves' but she isn't and it's illegal for anyone under a contract of servitude to be responsible for a minor.

Raleigh hasn't seen her since. Sometimes he asks people if they've heard anything. If she's alive. He's never gotten any concrete answers but he likes to think she made it. She's a Becket. She's a fighter. She'll be fine. 

He and his brother were, indeed, kept together. Blonde, attractive and well muscled. Athletes with a vicious attachment to each other. Sometimes it's harder to sell a duo but in the case of the Raleigh and Yancy Becket it isn't hard at all. They go to auction and sit still and terrified, hands clenched together with white knuckles as they listen to the bidding war escalate. 

In the end it's a Saudi buyer. They fetch the total price of 380 million dollars and are moved to Dubai. Their buyer is a collector of beautiful things, and these two American jewels are to be Collared Doves - modded with large, fully functioning wings and a simple leather collar around the neck.

Dubai is beautiful. Their owner has a man-made island shaped like a palm tree and a palace in the Burj Khalifa - the tallest building in the world. And everything is fine for a while. 

They're sheltered in a carefully tended botanic paradise with high vaulted windows - a literal gilded cage. They're taken care of, admired, laden with gifts and affection. There is little privacy but they remind themselves that it could be so much worse. They are so lucky. 

Lucky until they aren't, anymore. 

They were never really told what happened but Raleigh remembers it like yesterday.

They were on a boat, lazily perched on the top deck of their master's yacht chatting about nothing in particular, foreign pop playing somewhere in the background as a party raged on around them. Their wings were clipped and an anklet tethered them to the deck but other than that? In cool white linen trousers and unbuttoned shirts, blonde hair shining, exorbitantly expensive designer aviators covering their eyes and a drink in their hand? Things weren't so bad. 

A loud bang came from nowhere and rocked the boat, throwing everyone to the ground and several off the side. There were screams and suddenly so much smoke. There was the sound of a speedboat, maybe more than…maybe two or three and then gunshots. 

Raleigh heard his name being called in slow motion, he heard his master yell and then Yancy from no so far away before he was on the ground under his brother's body.

There was so much smoke. 

He couldn't see. He couldn't do anything and suddenly he was soaking wet. Trembling under Yancy until the noise stopped and the smoke finally cleared. An attempt on their master's life. 

It was successful. 

More than, actually. Half the people on board were murdered, Yancy included, mowed down by a spray of bullets. Raleigh didn't realize until it was long over that the wetness soaking him through and clogging his vision was his brother's blood. 

It took three hours to be rescued. Three hours of sobbing over Yancy's body. And finally, when all the other passengers were safely retrieved it was another half an hour of begging to be taken with. He's property, he's living property, please don't leave him out here. 

But there isn't room for pets on board. He'd have to wait until the police come to get the bodies. 

Another five hours before the cord on his ankle is cut and he's brought back to their cage. 

He refuses to let go of Yancy and snarls at anyone who comes too close. 

Eventually, his brother is cremated. The ashes condensed and pressed into a diamond. Raleigh thinks it's awful and gaudy and disgusting, but it is a gift and he accepts it. 

A gift in the place his freedom should have been. 

Raleigh is returned to the auction house and his modifications stripped. It's painful and leaves a series of scars down his left arm and side but that is to be expected. Once he seems recovered enough it's right back to the auction block. 

Or rather a brief phone call to an Australian who doesn't mind taking the shit no one else wants. And no wonder he's so cheap, he's used. But that doesn't matter to the fine entertainers at Lucky Seven. He's still got legs, right? He's still pretty? He'll be fine.

Scott and Chau arrange the sculpting and it's back under the knife. 

And Raleigh has never been so furious in all his life. Robbed of his freedom and robbed of his family only to be shoved into another deal he has no control of. 

To be shoved into a tank and told he's got to swim, That he can breathe underwater as well as air. Stop gasping, just trust your lungs. Your gills.

He doesn't and refuses to dive. Chau has to hold him under water until Raleigh's lungs feel like they're going to burst and he gives in. Fine, he thinks with venom. He's lost everything, he may as well lose his life.

But he doesn't drown. 

And he's given a basic rundown of what parts do what and how to use them. How long he can be out of the water for, what the PH balance needs to be. He's made to sign a confidentiality agreement that he'll never reveal he's been re-purposed. That he was never human at all. That he's an authentic specimen and willingly contracted to his new job. 

"Hey, petal" Scott tells him over the phone. "I'll tell you what. You do me five years and I'll let'cha go, yeeh? Sign whatever you need to get you gone for good. No more contracts, ever."

It's a hell of a tempting offer and so he agrees and signs the papers. Not that he knows what he’ll do with his freedom, but it would at least be a chance to get his legs back. And that’s, really, what Raleigh wants. 

And then he's stuffed into a cramped tank and boarded into a shipping container in complete and utter darkness. 

It's terrifying to travel without being able to see where you're going. To hear muffled voices and know they're talking about you. To be jostled and moved and is that- is that a forklift?? 

And then it's a crowbar ripping the shipping container open and a lantern shining in at him and terror - pure straight terror that builds in Raleigh's chest so great that he springs at the glass and rocks against it. The light bounces off the tank in an odd way, highlighting only the closest objects and the up-lighting makes Raleigh seem terrifying to behold. It's a quick movement and his hands are pressed against the glass. Pale and blonde with wide blue eyes and a long, graceful tail in a cascade of blues.

Fish tank. 

Man with a tail. 

Scott bought a merman.


	3. Chapter 3

When you’re twenty-one and you’re thinking _Jesus Christ I’m too old for this_ , there’s really a problem somewhere in your life. This is not the first time Chuck contemplates just fucking leaving, and he’s convinced that it wont be the last.

 

Problem is, he _can’t_ just up and leave. He’s under contract himself, with his old man and with Scott. He’s stuck here five fucking years, paying off his university loans that he’d had to take out when he was fucking sixteen.

 

_“Listen Charlie,” Scott had told him, shaking his head and leaning back in his high backed leather chair, an unlit cigar resting in the ashtray as he spoke to his kid._

 

_“You’re a bright kid, yeah? Lookit you, goin’ into the Academy at sixteen. You’re the youngest student they’ve ever had! It’s an honor, a real blessing. You’ll be done in four years, have a bunch of degrees I can’t even pronounce!”_

 

_That’s because you’re a fuckin’ idiot, Chuck thinks nastily, but he keeps his face plastic, the smile beginning to hurt his face._

 

_“Exactly why I’m taking out a bank loan, Uncle Scott,” he explains_ again _, patience thinning._

 

_“Chuck, look. You can take out a bank loan or you can take out a loan with me ‘n yer dad. It’ll be easier this way, yeah? You keep it in the family, and y’don’t have a fuckin’ yank chasin’ you down years later, demanding money, with interest. Why don’t we do this – you take the money from us, from Lucky Seven, and we won’t charge you interest while yer a student. Instead, when y’graduate, you just work for us a spell, ‘n that’ll be it. You won’t have to make payments or anything. How’s that sound?”_

 

_Too good to be true, Chuck thinks._

 

_“What’s the catch?”_

 

_Scott lifts his hands and shakes his head._

 

_“No catch. You just sign the papers, and we’re done. Look, Charlie, I’ve already got ‘em drawn up.”_

 

_The folder is slid across to Chuck and he glances through them. He’s a genius, smart as a whip and going to university at sixteen, but this is a lot of legal jargon for anyone to handle and his memory, while exceptional, isn’t eidetic and he’s not going to remember all of this._

 

_“So you don’t charge me interest and when I’m done, I just work for you a little while?” He asks slowly, carefully flipping through the pages, looking for words that might jump out and scream NO THIS IS A VERY BAD IDEA DO NOT SIGN THIS PAPER at him._

 

_Shockingly, he doesn’t see any. It all looks pretty legit, and on the last page, the Hansen family lawyer – Tamsin Sevier – has signed in her scrawling script._

 

_It must be legit. Chuck knows her, she wouldn’t fuck him over. Right?_

 

_He chews at his lip, not sure._

 

_Scott slides a pen over._

 

_“What d’you say, Charlie?”_

 

“I should’ve shot him then,” Chuck mutters, running his palm over his face and moves closer to the tank, his scowl deepening with every step.

 

A face appears in the lantern light, unearthly and utterly fucking _beautiful_ , eyes bluer than the Pacific Ocean narrowed and angry and accusing and glaring right at Chuck.

 

It's terrifying.

 

The sudden appearance makes Chuck jump back with an undignified yelp that’ll embarrass him later.

 

“Holy fucking shit!”

 

Chuck had never claimed to be an eloquent man, and the way he stumbles over the crowbar and sprawls on his ass, lantern still clutched and somehow intact is further proof to his lack of grace. He stares at the tank with an open mouth and jaw furiously trying to work and force _something_ out so he didn’t look like a complete jackass.

 

It doesn't work. He looks like an idiot, and he's scrambling to his feet and keeping a good distance between himself and the tank.

 

“Oi, you in there,” he calls out, “y’alright, mate?”

 

_The fuck am I doing_ , he thinks to himself, mouth twisting into a grimace, _that thing looked at me like it wanted to eat me for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner._

 

Raleigh doesn't answer right away, eyes narrowing ever more. He considers laughing at Chuck falling back the way he does but holds it in.

 

No. No he's not alright. He's not alright with anything right now. And it's just when he's about to mouth something vicious and throw a hand gesture that he remembers no-

 

-this is your life now-

 

-you can do this.

 

And so he stays perfect still. Eerily, even.

 

He has no idea how long he's been in transit but it's been way too long and his heart is in his throat, but initial fear over? Terror of being in the dark and then suddenly light shining in and bouncing around the glass over with, he lets his eyes adjust to the dim light. Until his expression drops from that of seething-anger-masking-terror to just neutral and unimpressed.

 

It's then that he realizes he can get at least a small view of the warehouse and _Raleigh you are in a warehouse!_

 

What was this job again?

 

He hadn't been told. Only that it was luxury entertainment.

 

That nagging part of him reminding him to behave or risk losing his freedom commands him to finally nod, shoulders dropping. He taps his right forefinger against the tank where a documents envelope had been attached with packing tape.

 

_Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of a luxury AUTHENTIC SPECIMEN._

 

_Hi!_

 

_My name is Raleigh. I'm 26, a wild North Pacific Merman and so pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm friendly and speak but please be patient with me as I have been in transit, may be a little tired, and will need some time to adjust._

 

_If you have any questions please don't hesitate to contact the Hannibal Chau Auctions and Acquisitions HR Department._

 

The way that he's being looked at is more than a little bit terrifying and Chuck almost takes another step back but just barely refrains, and instead palms roughly at his face.

 

He sucks in a breath through his nose and reaches to snatch the envelope off the glass, ripping it open and pulling the papers out, eyes skimming over the paperwork by lantern light.

 

"Raleigh."

 

Chuck looks up sharply, cuts his eyes from papers to the fishman -- _merman_.

 

"It says your name is Raleigh. Is that right?"

 

Because Chuck's seen a shitload of things come through here, a shitload of busted up, modded people and sometimes they come with documents like this, papers claiming that they're legit when Chuck can plainly see that they _aren't_ , and with names that aren't their own.

 

It's so goddamn demeaning - and if this guy is here to stay, Chuck wants to make sure he's addressed properly.

 

Raleigh sinks back a little bit while the man is reading but then his name is called and he's back at the glass with rapt attention.

 

Yes, he nods.

 

That's my name.

 

Should he be surprised they let him keep it? But he supposes it doesn't matter. He's lost his former life, perhaps it's one bittersweet kindness to let him keep his name. Maybe they don't care enough to give him a new identity so he can forget the old one.

 

Don't care enough to wipe his brain and let him start over.

 

Chuck can't really be so surprised, though, can he? There's a huge empty tank in the grand hall in the casino as well as several smaller ones in the more luxurious VIP sections. What else were they going to fill those with, glitter? Real fish? As if. Not when they can have this. Something to really set them apart.

 

And Lucky 7 is all about fantasy. All about being that little bit larger than life.

 

In any case, he gives a nod and figures this isn't Scott in any capacity.

 

"Who are you?" Raleigh finally asks, voice low and muted through the glass. He hates talking under water, it’s putrid and fills his mouth with slime and makes him want to gag.

 

Chuck rubs his forehead with his wrist, papers clenched in his hand.

 

That fucking note -- Chuck could just set it on fire.

 

Sometimes he wanted to set this whole place on fire. When would enough be enough for Scott? Why didn't Herc control his fucking brother?

 

Chuck doesn't know. He just knows that now that Raleigh's _here_ , Chuck's going to end up being mostly in charge of him - like he is of all Scott's acquisitions.

 

 

He doesn't even know what to do with Raleigh right now - he can't move the bastard inside on his own and the casino is open literally 24/7, like most of them are. It's gonna be a bitch and a half to get him transported, and he's going to need separate holding tanks for when he's not on display and this is going to be a goddamn mess.

 

And expensive.

 

Jesus Christ.

 

He's staring heatedly at the papers, anger bubbling up in his gut, face starting to flush red when he realizes that Raleigh is talking to him.

 

He hadn't realized the man could talk.

 

"Chuck Hansen," he says slowly, inching closer and giving Raleigh a tired look that mirrors his own. "My old man owns the place."

 

Oh, he seems to silently say. That makes sense. Scott's son, then.

 

He has no opinion on the matter and so he simply nods. Okay. He understands.

 

It's almost like he didn't even speak from the look on his face, the stillness in the way he carries himself, staring at Chuck for some kind of…he isn't sure. This is a radically different situation from his previous contract. Direction? Unlike last time he is very much a captive of his environment. He has to be in the water. Not every second of every day but his skin will crack if it dries. It will be incredibly painful. He really doesn't want to find out just how bad..

 

Scott hadn't exactly planned on how they were going to take care of him. They gave the bird people a room in the hotel, he figured they would just do the same for Raleigh. Put him in the bathtub or pool or something, he doesn't know. He didn't consider the fish needing a private room. He's a fish he has a tank, it's pretty simple from where he's standing. And anyway that's Chuck's job to sort out.

 

Raleigh makes a gesture a bit like a sigh and raises an eyebrow.

 

 

What now?

 

Chuck is _so sick_ of cleaning up Scott’s messes. He’s put a bullet in more than one fucked up mod in his life because he was _begged to_ and every time he has to do it, Chuck feels like less of a man, like he’s lost a piece of himself the moment the trigger was pulled.

 

Raleigh isn’t begging for death, though – there’s no mod gone wrong here from what he can tell, he doesn’t seem to be in excruciating pain, he just seems kind of…indifferent.

 

Angry, too – Chuck can see it simmering just beneath the surface of that mask Raleigh’s put on. Those blue eyes are too open, too raw – too pissed off for Chuck to not notice.

 

Christ – but he’s gorgeous, though.

 

He looks back down at the papers clenched in his fist; Raleigh’s paperwork claims that he’s legit but Chuck is skeptical and doesn’t buy it – the shit that comes from Chau’s is never _legit_ , and is only barely legal on a good day.

 

No, there’s more behind Raleigh’s story than what’s here on the paper but it’s not Chuck’s business at the moment, and so he crumbles up the stupid _Hi I’m Raleigh!_ letter (seriously? Is he a _puppy_?) and crams it in his pocket, then folds the other documents a little more carefully, and slips them back into the envelope.

 

They’ll need those, legit or not – just in case.

 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, clearly not knowing how else to go about this except to be open, honest, and blunt, “That dumbfuck Scott doesn’t ever tell me what he orders and if there’s any kind of accompanying special need. I had no idea you were coming. I’ve got nothing set up for you except for a tank in the main lobby that he miraculously remembered to commission, but beyond that, all I’ve got for you is what you’re in.” Old water, a too small tank. Godammit, Scott.

 

Chuck squints and comes closer, reaching up to run his fingers down the corner of the glass. He can swing by the local pet store, get him a better filtration system, at least. That’s a start.

 

Currently, he’s gotta get the guy out of this shitty – literally – water he’s floating in. He pulls out his cell phone and gets on the horn, speaks half in code and half in rapid Aussie slang, snarling at whoever is on the other end to shut the goddamn Casino down and no he doesn’t give a shit that it’s peak hours, just _get the people out_.

 

…Then get down here. Chuck needs help.

 

He ends the call and stuffs the phone back into his pocket and sighs in frustration.

 

Tomorrow’s paperwork is going to be a special kind of hell.

 

“There’s a block of land behind the hotel I can get Dad to purchase. We get you a few pools set up there. I’ll draw up some designs, and you can tell me if they’re alright. Or if you’ve got any ideas, I’m game. It’s gonna be his’s dime.” Chuck’s grin is too wide, a little too vicious. “So we might as well spend _wisely_ , dontcha think? I’m thinkin’ underground grottos and shit – somethin’ that gives you privacy cause I hate to say it, mate – you’re not gonna get much when you’re in that lobby tank.”

 

Pools. Tanks. Like it’s goddamn Sea World. What had Scott been _thinking?_

 

Oh right. He _hadn’t_.

 

“Sorry we weren’t ready for you, mate. You salt or fresh?”

 

A beat.

 

“And what do you eat? You hungry?”


	4. Chapter 4

Scott had been thinking _Fuck yeah, Mermaids_ , that's what.

 

Raleigh listens, having to come close to hear through the glass.

 

Oh... So he was a surprise. That's disappointing considering the amount of work he'd had done to be there but he doesn't really know Scott. Has no idea what kind of guy he is other than he's the kind who buys people and has them sculpted. But Raleigh's last master was pretty amazing as far as _masters_ go and Scott had made him a pretty good deal so how bad could he be?

 

Maybe just a little forgetful.

 

Chuck doesn't seem to have a great opinion of him, though. Always a good sign.

 

He draws his brow as Chuck explains the situation and then even more as he's on the phone speaking something Raleigh is pretty sure isn't English.

 

Right. A lobby tank. That sounds...exposed.

 

But pools would be nice. Something outside and well filtered. Maybe with a bit of ramp he can lounge on. Until recently all of his hobbies have required being _dry_. He suspects reading will be much more challenging under water if he has to badger someone to hold a book up against the glass for him and turn the pages. Probably wouldn't be very entertaining for them.

 

But he has the feeling he isn't here to be admired in his own leisurely pursuits.

 

Something in his stomach sinks. He's here to be a show pony, isn't he.

 

God damn it.

 

When he'd been a dove he'd had to entertain, sure, but that wasn't his purpose. He was collected to be admired and his master had taken that very seriously.

 

His hand absently closes around the pendant necklace he wears around his neck. A thin gold chain with a diamond drop. Simple, elegant, and yet very very precious. Self soothing as anxiety builds up more inside him.

 

There are a lot of questions to answer and he's happy to, after all these are things that will affect his quality of life, but he doesn't want to speak through the water if he can avoid it.

 

Raleigh gives Chuck a good once over before gesturing towards the top of the tank. Was he gonna open this so they can talk or what?

 

"...Oh, right. One second, mate."

Chuck disappears into the darkness and leaves Raleigh the lantern before returning almost immediately with a stepladder that he sets up alongside the tank. Climbing up, he sort of fumbles with the latch before prying it open and shoving the lid off.

"Better?"

Raleigh shoots to the top the second it's open and breaches it with a gasp.

 

Fresh air.

 

Oh thank god.

 

The water is dank and he was starting to feel (and probably look) a little green around the gills. There's a little filter somewhere at the bottom but it was never designed to be good. Just a little cheap piece of shit Chau threw in there to keep the oxygen levels up. Can't have his wares dying in transit, after all. That'd be disappointing. Once they're received, though? Not his problem.

 

Raleigh grabs the side of the tank with one hand and stays there breathing deeply for a moment, pushing his hair out of his face before looking up at Chuck. There's a moment where he contemplates how easy it might be to launch himself out of the tank but then he realizes there's no reason to calculate that. He's not going to escape. He's contracted and even if he weren't he doesn't have legs.

 

Maybe it's just the basic need to get the fuck out of the tank.

 

"Thank you." He finally says, voice deep with a natural lyrical roll. American accent. Well articulated but a little rough around the edges. Simply put, he's got a voice like sex and an air of danger. Not at all what you would expect from a _Wild North Pacific Merman_.

 

Chuck nearly stumbles back off the ladder when Raleigh shoots up like that, and he does _not_ miss that look that crosses over Raleigh’s features, like he’s contemplating escape or something and Chuck just sighs and waits, watches to see what he’ll do because this would not be the first time it’s happened and it damn sure won’t be the last.

 

Chuck really, really hates his job.

 

But Raleigh doesn’t do it, he just looks up at Chuck and pushes that gorgeous mop of gold hair out of the way

 

“…Welcome,” he mutters, propping his arms on the side of the tank and lacing his fingers together. Raleigh’s fucking incredible; his voice threatens to unstitch Chuck and he shifts and looks away briefly before zeroing back in.

 

Do your job, Hansen.

 

“So – uh,” he continues, feeling a little silly and a lot like an asshole, “what kinda water you need? And – food? You hungry?”

 

"Fresh water." he answers and then considers his second answer.

 

"Just..normal food. I'm not allergic to anything." A pause then he ventures a small request. "I don't really like spicy things.."

 

It almost sounds as though he feels like he's pushing the envelope to ask, but if you don't ask you don't get. And he is used to being taken care of so, if he can help it, he'd like to stay that way.

 

And yes, he is hungry. The look in his eyes is enough.

 

Also he is really having a hard time grasping the idea that he's a surprise. Who orders someone like Raleigh and then forgets to mention it.

 

"Where am I?"

 

Right. He’s going to have to get some food brought down, and he digs around in his pocket to pull the phone back out, and sends a text to his kitchen staff.

 

Need food delivery ASAP to warehouse. Nothing spicy. Bring a variety.

 

And who orders someone as beautiful as Raleigh then doesn’t tell anyone what’s coming? Idiots like Scott Hansen.

 

“Sydney, Australia.” He pauses, and glances up. “Right now you’re in the warehouse. I’m in charge of shipping and receiving. I oversee what comes in and what goes out, and I manage most of Lucky 7’s assets.”

 

Like mermen. And bird people. And the other modded people that Scott’s been accumulating over the years.

 

"Lucky 7." He remembers seeing that on the paperwork he signed and this just confirms that's the name of the business.

 

"In Sydney."

 

Well shit..no wonder he'd been in a box for so long. He'd literally been put on the slow boat from China.

 

But Chuck manages the assets which...Raleigh is assuming means him. Probably best to try and get along with him, then. Especially if he's also the boss' kid.

 

The boss' very attractive, smart-ass, hair trigger tempered kid.

 

"What kind of place is this? My contract is for luxury entertainment."

 

Literally the only information he has on the subject.

 

“Yeah. In Sydney.”

 

If Mum were still alive, _none_ of this would be happening.Chuck wonders if the long trip dulled Raleigh’s brain.

 

And maybe it has a little. Sitting in the dark for a while gripped with anxiety and panic will dull you. Raleigh listens intently, drinking in the information like it's the first time he's heard any of this. Because, well, it is.

 

He listens and watches, eyes fixed on his new...care taker? Manager? Master? and slowly the pit in his stomach grows. He was right. He's a show pony.

 

This isn't going to be anything like his last contract. Not in the least.

 

“It’s a casino,” he says, rather matter of factly. “And a hotel. The only one of its kind here in Oz. Got the best shows, best entertainment, best gamblin’,” he rambles on, essentially reciting Lucky 7’s brochure word for word.

 

Raleigh wishes Yancy were here with him. He would know how to handle this better. Hell, he'd probably love the attention.

 

Lucky Seven is a luxury fantasy palace and where somewhere else would just pay a diver to do carefully choreographed shows three times a day, they buy in someone who does it 24/7. He isn't their first and it sounds like he won't be their last.

 

"Oh." He finally says when Chuck finishes. That's about all he's got. Just, _oh._

 

Chuck grinds his teeth and rakes a hand through his hair, essentially disheveling any sleekness he might’ve had about him.

 

“Fuck, mate. I’m sorry.”

 

It’s a lot of information to take in, Chuck knows that. He’s sort of surprised Raleigh isn’t throwing a fit and trying to jump out and kick Chuck’s ass and hell – Chuck would probably let him. It’s bullshit, he knows it and Raleigh knows it but there’s nothing Chuck can do without breaching his own contract.

 

“I’m not gonna make you—“

 

Chuck’s cut off by the arrival of a busboy with a cart rattling out into the warehouse and Chuck holds up an index finger to Raleigh - _hang on_ \- and he jumps down and meets him halfway. There’s a brief conversation and the kid keeps trying to crane his neck to get a look but Chuck kicks him out and tells him to go on about his business before he ends up in trouble.

 

Chuck pushes the cart back over himself then looks sort of uncertainly to Raleigh, to the cart, then back again.

 

How the fuck is he gonna eat this? It’s not like there’s a ledge he can set shit on. Chuck could hold it plate by plate, he supposed but he suspects neither of them wants to do that.

 

“So there’s food,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “but I dunno how you wanna do this.”

 

Raleigh hates this. Give him his wings back any day because this aquatic business? Is far too much trouble. Why anyone would elect to be essentially handicapped he has no idea. There's nothing poetic about stagnant water. It's not romantic to have no idea how you're going to get out of a tank to eat and then what? Have to get back in? No one is writing romance novels about poorly sanitized habitats and losing the ability to stand.

 

He needs a bath. He needs to get the slime off him and decompress.

 

Interesting, though, that Chuck doesn't let the porter see him. He wonders if it's shame or something else, and sinks down to peer over the rim of the tank until the bellboy leaves.

 

Huh. Okay. How _are_ they going to do this?

 

He scans the warehouse but it's hard to make much out in the dim light.

 

"Is there a piece of wood or something?" He asks and gestures. "We could lay it over the ledge." Like a table, he thinks. Save them a lot of hassle.

 

Part of it _is_ shame. The other part is that Chuck doesn’t want a huge commotion right now – Raleigh _is_ going to draw people in and it’s going to be a nightmare and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it any sooner than he needs to.

 

“…There’s the planks that were around your tank,” Chuck says slowly, glancing around and dragging one back over.

 

It’s heavy and awkward but he manages to get it up and settled on the top of the tank, leaving it to Raleigh to adjust it how he likes.

 

From there he’ll carry everything up one by one, and set it out to just let Raleigh have his choice.

 

After this, he doesn’t know what to do with him. While Raleigh eats, Chuck’s gonna puzzle that out.

 

He can take him to a room and let him prepare himself mentally, but none of the rooms have a _fish tank_. Maybe the Empress suite; there’s actually a hot tub in there and no one is staying in it at the moment. He could fill it up with normal temperature water, let Raleigh chill for a couple hours while his men work on clearing the casino out so he can transport Raleigh to the tank there.

 

A pretty perfect plan all around, Raleigh would agree as he noses at the food for a moment before digging in, culture and refinement, all his training falling to the wayside because he is just _so_ hungry.

 

When he was a bird he and Yancy would just pick and nibble all day. They'd make a game of it, working to crack open almonds and seductively grab strawberries out of their master's outstretched hand. They'd practice to see how carefully they could open and consume a ripe pomegranate until one of them gave up and crammed a whole handful of the sweet little morsels in their mouth.

 

He'd never gone hungry as a dove.

 

As a fish he's been nothing but.

 

"Hey.." He breaks the silence when he's finished and peers over the edge of his tank.

 

"Sorry, Sir, what am I supposed to call you? Mr. Hansen?"

 

He looks up when he's addressed, and meets Raleigh's eyes.

"Chuck is fine. That's what everyone calls me. You good with Raleigh?"

Chuck, Raleigh thinks. He can do that. A far cry from the manners he'd all but grown up in, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't exactly feel like being ultra-polite right now, anyway.

 

Not that Chuck has done anything to personally offend him, it's more just the whole situation. His brother, his 'reassignment'. He should be a free man right now.

 

"Yes. That _is_ my name."

 

A pause.

 

"Can I make a suggestion?" He'd been listening to Chuck's side of the arrangement making.

 

"Have a porter bring a wet towel and a wheelchair. I don't need to be submerged to travel. If you don't want anyone to see me but can't close the hotel then just cover my tail. No one will know."

 

"The problem is if people see you, the place is gonna turn into a madhouse. Like...a fuckin' ton of people just crushing in."

 

But he rubs at his chin, brow furrowing in thought.

 

"Right, that's a good idea."

 

Wheelchair, wet towel.

 

Those are brought pretty quickly, and the same thing happens as before - Chuck shoos the porter away before he can get too close.

 

Though he's gonna call someone to clean up the tank Raleigh was in later.

 

"Right. Now how do we get you in this..."

 

Because it looks like Chuck is gonna have to lift him out himself.

 

It's so obvious neither of them have done this before.

 

"Blind leading the blind, I think."

 

Not very helpful but there you go. The tank stands eight or so feet tall and jumping is pretty much out of the question. Raleigh is pretty sure he'd fuck himself up and the idea of nose diving onto the concrete isn't as appealing as it might sound.

 

"Maybe I can…here." He says and hefts himself up on the rim.

 

"Bring that over and I'll drop into it?" He suggests, angling so he can balance his weight on one hip and slowly, _slowly_ pull himself out and over until he's dangling on the other side of the glass. His tail is long and intricate, scales shining in the light, fins grazing against the floor as he extends himself down as low as he can. The tank was far too small. He's been cramped in there for way too long.

 

It's still a drop of several feet, though. Chuck might have to grab him, after all. A rather unceremonious end to what was such a graceful reveal.

 

Chuck shoves the chair closer but wow, he's definitely staring in a twisted kind of awe at Raleigh because he's got a gorgeous view of his whole body now and he's just - perfect.

 

Literally perfect, scars and all. Chuck wants to run his tongue along every one of them, trace his way down to where flesh meets scales and back up again.

 

Face burning, he jerks his eyes up and gives a brief shake of his head.

 

"You're gonna fall." He stands under Raleigh, arms extended. "Jump, mate - I'll catch you."

 

Raleigh isn't sure he trusts that plan but what other option is there? He should have maybe thought about that before throwing himself over the side of the tank.

 

Good job, he thinks, tapping his forehead against the glass. Great forward thinking on this one.

 

But surely Chuck wouldn't sabotage him. Surely he will actually catch him.

 

Raleigh peers down at him from under his arm and nods.

 

"Okay, on three."

 

One, two, three, and he drops.

 

He drops, and he falls right into Chuck's arms with a hard “Uuft!”

Fuck, Raleigh's _heavy_.

Chuck doesn't drop him though, and as careful as he can be (and without thinking about slick skin against his shirt, soaking his clothing and leaving him with a distinct chill) he sets Raleigh down into the chair and goes for the wet towels he'd asked for, draping them carefully over Raleigh's lap.

"There. Think that'll work?"

"Uuh.." Raleigh does a calculation and tucks his tail back on itself to rest in his lap, fussing with the towels until he's happy with them and there aren't any totally weird shapes happening under there.

 

"I don't see why not. No one will be looking at me." And it's uncomfortable but no one will give a second glance to some guy in a wheelchair.

 

He tests the wheels and rotates himself left then right. Ah. Yes, this is so much better.

 

"...Yeah."

 

"Right, you ready?"

 

Because they've gotta get inside and to the elevator and to the highests floor.

 

Which, once they're in, it won't be too bad. Chuck is going to come in through the back and take the service elevator.

 

Raleigh nods, worrying his bottom lip for a moment before deciding yes, actually, he really is ready to do this.

 

All of this.

 

He's out of the tank now, this is really happening.

 

Welcome to your new life as a show pony, Raleigh Becket. Last five years and you're free forever. You’ll get your legs back...maybe even your wings.

 

"After you."

 

And you know something, it's not hard at all. No one gives them a single look and they stick to the staff corridors, service elevators. The hall is blessedly empty when they finally arrive at the top and the suite- well. It's not Dubai but it is magnificent and carries a whole other kind of charm. Raleigh can barely keep it together long enough to remove the towels before he's jumping into the hot tub and completely submerging himself in the blessedly clean water where he wiggles around for a few seconds before resurfacing and pulling the plug to replace all the water again and run his head under the faucet to thoroughly clean his face and hair.

 

It's the little things. Basic needs. He already feels a million times better. And when he realizes he's all but ignoring Chuck he stops and fixes him with a long look.

 

"Thank you."

 

One of the hardest parts of Chuck's job is this - giving these people things like a shower or dinner or clean clothes and then getting _thanked_ for shit they shouldn't even have to ask for. It makes him feel sick to his stomach that _clean water_ and basic amenities is apparently something people haven't been affording Raleigh recently. It's fucking ridiculous, it's bullshit and it makes Chuck want to just...punch people in the face and go start some kind of revolution.

He's a one man band, though - indentured servants and slaves aren't going anywhere, anytime soon.

Chuck's leaning against the wall and not watching Raleigh - as much as he'd like to, let's be honest - in order to give him at least a little bit of privacy. He's fucking around on his phone, finishing up his arrangements when Raleigh addresses him again.

"...Yeah," he mumbles, not quite looking at him. "Sure."

Raleigh watches him for a moment more before shifting and plugging the tub so it can fill back up to the top, long tail unfurling and dropping over the edge onto the tile floor.

 

He's on his front, peering up at Chuck just over the rim of the tub. He isn't hiding, but there's something about it that makes him feel safe.

 

He recognizes Chuck giving him his space and respects it.

 

Chuck is a decent guy, Raleigh decides.

 

"So you're Scott's son.” Scott. He must never call him Master. That was one of the rules. “Do you enjoy being in the family business?"

 

"Scott is my uncle," Chuck corrects, face twisting up in disgust. "My old man is Hercules Hansen. He's the one that owns this place, CEO or whatever you wanna call it. Scott is just one of those assholes that won't disappear no matter how much you want him to."

 

Chuck doesn't think much of his uncle.

 

Or his dad, for that matter.

 

"I fuckin' hate it," he says bluntly. "Soon as I can, I'm outta here, and never looking back."

 

"Oh." Raleigh says quietly, inwardly flinching. His small talk topic of choice turning out to be a rather bad one.

 

Hercules and Scott. Brothers. Good information to have.

 

"May I ask why?" He pulls himself up a little, forearms resting on the side of the tub, chin coming to rest on them.

 

"I'm one of those genius kids, yeah?" He quotes his fingers around the word _genius_ and rolls his eyes.

 

"Graduated college when I was sixteen, got admitted into university that fall. Youngest ever to do it in my school, but even then, still needed loans, yeah? Had scholarships and stuff, but it wasn't enough."

 

Chuck shrugs, and doesn't look at Raleigh. He can't believe the guy actually cares and he's probably just fishing (ha, haha) for dirt on the Hansen family but Chuck doesn't care.

 

"So instead of taking one out through the bank Scott tells me to just take it through Lucky 7, and they wouldn't charge interest and after I graduated I just work a few years and then I'm on my own. Sounds good, yeah? I mean, no student loans, no payments - ever - and no interest? Course I took the offer."

 

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

 

"Family lawyer signed the papers, I never woulda thought she'd fuck me over like this, but I guess Scott paid her a lot of money. Turns out it's not just 'do a little work and you go on your way', instead it's five years of indentured servitude with docked pay, doing whatever Scott and Dad tell me to do. I'm legally bound to be here and if I run, I get thrown in jail."

 

Raleigh wasn't expecting that sort of answer at all. He thought maybe Chuck wanted to do something else or go to school. Maybe he just hated working for his dad, but servitude? Really?

 

His eyes widen and he draws himself up a little more out of respect. This isn't chin-on-arm conversation, anymore.

 

"Your family sold you...to itself."

 

Raleigh can't believe it. The words tumble out of his mouth before he thinks better. Blunt but that's the gist of what he's getting. Chuck is a slave. Contracted and everything.

 

“Basically, yeah.” Chuck answers.

 

It speaks volumes for the kind of people his bosses are.

 

A voice in the back of Raleigh's head reminds him that he should already know that and shouldn't be too surprised. They'd bought him too, after all.

 

But their own family? Their own flesh and blood? Chuck's own father had sold and bought him instead of just striking up a normal deal like a normal person. Or maybe it was the uncle who put the wheels in motion? Scott seems to be more active on this side of things. Chuck's father sounds...absent.

 

'Genius kid' or not, getting played by your family and then forced to see them every day? He can't imagine the hurt.

 

"I'm really sorry to hear that."

 

And he means it, knowing exactly how it feels to be desperate for help and wind up with a collar, instead.

 

A pause.

 

"How much longer do you have?"

 

“Four years, six months. I just graduated a couple months ago, came straight here.”

 

Chuck’s smile is strained, a little too manic to be genuine.

 

“I’ve got – I’ve got like three degrees, but I can’t do shit with ‘em cause I’m stuck here. And the really funny part is that I’m – I’m not even allowed to tell Dad what happened. I can’t say a goddamn word to my own father about him _owning me_ because it’s in my contract. He has no idea what Scott did – he just thinks I took out a loan and I’m working to pay it back. He’s fuckin’ clueless.”

 

He rubs angrily at his face.

 

“And whatever he tells me and whatever Scott tells me, I’ve gotta do it, no matter how much I don’t want to.”

 

The only reason Chuck _doesn’t_ have a collar is because Herc would figure it out. Chuck kind of considers himself lucky in that regard.

 

“I’m only four months in, mate.”

 

If the room were any quieter you might be able to hear Raleigh's heart break a little bit more in the name of Chuck Hansen.

 

He's met a lot of slaves, a lot of pets, and none of them very lucky. Not like he and Yancy had been.

 

A flurry of expressions cross his face and something bites at Raleigh's lips to be spoken but he reins himself back.

 

His brows draw and he searches for something eloquent? Meaningful? To say but draws a blank. Raleigh often finds himself falling mute when he can't think of a good answer. Silence speaks louder than words in many cases.

 

He can't believe Chuck's dad didn't read his son's contract. He can't believe someone would be so irresponsible and blind. Have no idea the amount of pain his kid is in-

 

Raleigh. Stop.

 

He wilts, letting the weight of Chuck's truth settle on his shoulders. Part of him wants desperately to commiserate but that would breach his own contract.

 

You're here because you want to be, remember, Raleigh? So fucking grin and bear it.

 

Only why the fuck would someone who wants to be there arrive in a dirty tank and have no idea where he is or what he's supposed to be doing. He's been there all of a few hours and the loose ends are already unraveling.

 

His stomach feels sour as more and more of the pieces fall into place.

 

Surely telling Chuck the truth, one slave to another, isn't a breach of terms?

 

It is..he's just so desperate not to be alone. He thinks maybe Chuck is in a similar place. What an unexpected turn of events. And so he glosses over any comments about how fucked up it is and how Chuck got fucked over and how much he must be hurting not being able to connect with his father and settles on something slightly less depressing.

 

"What did you study?"

 

Chuck can practically see the cogs working in Raleigh's mind and he waits to see what he's going to come up with, what he's going to say in regards to Chuck's 'plight'. It could be anything, really - supposedly, and according to the papers Raleigh's here by choice but Chuck calls bullshit on that, but if he _really is_ then Chuck's expecting some kind of verbal pat on the head and an 'you poor thing' kind of response, but it doesn't come.

Chuck's not really surprised.

Raleigh showed up in a dirty tank and confused as fuck. He doesn't want to be here anymore than Chuck does but if he doesn't want to talk about it, Chuck isn't going to pry.

"Engineering," he says flatly, folding his arms over his chest. "Mechanical, Valedictorian every time, all the way to Doctoral. By the time I graduated college, I'd already finished my first degree and was ready to start post-grad work in university."

He's a twenty-year old PhD grad stuck as a slave. Aint that some shit.

Raleigh is taken aback and mouths 'wow' to himself - the simple expression of just how impressive that is.

 

And it highlights the stark contrast to having to work here.

 

It must be hell for him.

 

Dr Hansen, though. It's got a nice ring to it.

 

No kidding, Chuck really is a genius. And Raleigh seems surprisingly well educated for a wild fishman out of Chau's. And really, according to Raleigh's papers he's friendly and social. He's apparently also wild and yet somehow completely adapted to human life. Though, one supposes you can teach a merman a lot of things. Everyone was wild once.

 

"What was your PhD project?" Because it had to have been something cool. Mechanical Engineering isn't an easy subject by any stretch of the imagination and Chuck doesn't seem the type to devote himself to something boring.

 

Chuck brightens.

 

“I’m really into robotics, yeah? Robotics, artificial intelligence, mechanics. You ever hear of this lady – Doctor Caitlin Lightcap? Real fuckin’ brilliant woman, I actually went to a seminar she gave back when I was like, seventeen. She came to the campus and gave a talk, fuckin’ amazing, the things she was doing.” Chuck leans forward, using his hands to speak.

 

“She’s got this idea you can merge human minds and machines – robots, mainly in the medical field, that you can literally _become_ the machine you’re controlling. Called it Drifting. She made a lot of breakthroughs but couldn’t ever seem to quite hit the note she needed to hit to make it work. I picked up where she left off. And y’know what? I figured out how t’do it.”

 

Raleigh feels like he's been let in on a huge secret.

 

Maybe...most probably because he has.

 

Raleigh considers a sexual quip about _being really into robotics_ but reminds himself that he hardly knows this guy and making fun of his passion like he'd do to Yancy, even if it's completely good natured, probably isn't a good move. He might get offended and huff off and then where would that leave Raleigh?

 

Alone in a hot tub for five years.

 

So he smiles instead and nods, listening. Actually he has heard of Drifting. Not very much but he'd read some articles about it in Popular Science a few years ago. He supposes that's why Lightcap's name sounds vaguely kinda sort of familiar. Or maybe it's just Chuck's sudden enthusiasm that has him feeling that way.

 

It's like somebody flipped a switch and suddenly the aggressive, moody young man with a gun down the back of his pants is an excited, incredibly intelligent nerd talking about robots, gesturing and speaking so fast Raleigh has to _really_ concentrate on listening just so he can make out what he's saying.

 

He did bring this upon himself but you know what? He's glad.

 

"Right, Drifting-" He interjects at one point with a nod, only to be floored by Chuck's admission.

 

"You what? _Really?_ How did- what did you do that?"

 

"Well--"

 

He backtracks, a little bit, because he's going about a mile a minute and rambling about shit Raleigh might not have any clue about.

 

...Shit he shouldn't actually be telling Raleigh.

 

But you know what, whatever. Raleigh's actually interested in what Chuck has to say, not many people are.

 

"I gotta back up. She came up with the whole Pons theorem. That's what Lightcap was touching on. It's a neural bridge--" he links his fingers together in front of his face, holding them up, "that links biological brain and robotics. You move it with your thoughts, with your brainwaves. Each Pons system she created could be calibrated to specific neural profiles - like mine, or yours."

 

He taps his temple.

 

"She figured out that the tech was possible. I made it work." Chuck fidgets. "I got with her after the talk and she helped me decide that that was what I was going to work on for my project. She supplied me her notes, I took them and ran. We worked together for a while." He huffs out a breath of air.

 

"Data relay gel, the pons system, Drift technology -- all of it's me. Everything you might've read about it in the last year has been my work."

 

Chuck licks his lips, clearly undecided about telling Raleigh any more but then figures what the fuck, he's already in deep, so he just keeps going.

 

"Depending on the tech you're using - like what kind of machine you're trying to operate - depends on the type of Pons system you'll need. The bigger the tech, the heavier the neural load. When you start getting massive, like, say -- fuck, fighter jets or something, for example," he holds up his peace fingers, "you'd need two people operating in the Drift together."

 

"Because it would be too much to handle on your own?" Raleigh asks, putting it all together.

 

He isn't a scientist and so he hasn't been following all this very closely but every so often it came up in the news or in one of the journals that used to litter his nest. He and Yancy were never short of reading material and controlling robots with your mind? Fucking _awesome_.

 

All of this sounds amazing and it's humbling to realize when you're in the presence of a great mind. And that you scared the fuck out of said great mind by ramming a glass tank out of fear and anger.

 

And then proceeded to flop onto and force them to carry you to a hot tub.

 

Raleigh Becket, look at you. Making your family proud.

 

"It would put too much strain under the pilot?"

 

A pause.

 

"Would you have to be in the tech to operate it? Why not just use an AI? Or a remote distance network?" Ah, the age old debate.

 

Huh. Suspiciously well educated for a wildman, indeed.

 

"Exactly!"

 

Chuck grins and pushes off the wall, reaching out of the bathroom to grab a chair, dragging it back in and flipping around, sitting in it backwards, legs straddled, arms resting on the low back.

 

"The neural load is too much for one pilot," he confirms, "in something that big, you'd seize up, yeah? It'd just overwhelm you, totally fry your brain. But with two minds sharing the weight, it's perfect."

 

But they have to be compatible minds. Can't just throw anyone in there, now can you?

 

"AIs are too finicky," he says, "they're good to help copilot, to call out commands, to assist with things that you're just not fast enough to do on your own - direct nanobots to self repair, sending out broadcasts back to base, things like that. But no -- you need hands on experience here. Humans think, they evaluate. Maybe they aren't as fast or quick thinking as AIs, but we feel. We have emotion. That's an important part of decision making."

 

For better, or for worse.

 

"We're also unpredictable. We make choices AIs wouldn't even dream of. They're programmed for what, standard techniques? We deviate from that, make different choices that you just can't predict from a bunch of statistics."

 

"And that's a good thing?" The point peaks Raleigh's interest and he raises an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

 

A pause. This gets more and more interesting with every passing second and he finds himself leaning forward, happily engaging in the discussion. Happily forgetting everything else.

 

"I mean, I can't see why _unpredictability_ would be useful in piloting a robot unless it was for a military application."

 

"It can be," he says defensively. "People thinking outside the box, you can't just stuff anyone into the Pons and expect them to be able to do a good job. They gotta be compatible."

 

Raleigh smiles, something slightly wolfish.

 

"Are you Iron Man, Chuck?"

 

"I could be. With the right equipment."

 

"Do you have a suit?" Raleigh presses, grin spreading wider. "I bet you have a suit."

 

"I might."

 

He grins back, neither confirming nor denying but -- the probability of Chuck being in this situation and actually having a suit is very low.

 

"So, how do you know if you're compatible? Are there tells or do you just have to try and hope you align with some other random person?"

 

"There's tests. Written, physical, and mental. Sometimes, you just...know. You don't even need to tests, you can feel it with the other person from the moment you meet. 'S like a spark."

 

"Oh." So, inconclusive, then.

 

Something in the back of his head thinks he and Yancy would have been. They'd done everything together. They'd just..clicked and everything made sense. A whole person born between the bodies of two siblings.

 

"My brother and I." Raleigh supplies, the words tumbling out before he can stop them, a sudden pang of hurt rips through his chest and he toys with his necklace. It's still too fresh. Just thinking Yancy's name is torture. It summons demons he can't quite face. Memories of blood and feathers and seasickness.

 

"I think we would have been compatible."

 

"Family members seemed to in be the top contenders for drift compatibility," Chuck confirms, though he doesn't miss the way Raleigh speaks, the way his hand lifts and toys with his necklace. He doesn't miss the flicker of emotion on his face, the way his features briefly darken.

 

Chuck seems to know better than to ask, and instead only confirms Raleigh's suspicion.

 

"I mean, not always - but sometimes."

 

"It makes sense."

 

Grateful Chuck doesn't press. It's funny, little details like that. Reminders that you had a life before the one you're in now.

 

"If you're going to share your head with someone it's probably best you know them."

 

Imagine that, sharing your head with someone. What a terrifying thought in a world where everyone has too many secrets. He's not sure he'd trust anyone in there except Yancy. No one else would be able to deal with his bullshit.

 

"What's Drifting like?" Because it would be silly to think Chuck hadn't experienced his own tech. He's probably his own guinea pig.

 

"I've only ever Drifted with Dr. Lightcap. We weren't really compatible, so the rest of the time, I did it alone. 'S weird, like...digital space kind of shit. If you can think it, you can create it. It's fake, of course, but it feels real."

 

He looks down at his hands.

 

"You can't have any secrets in the drift. Your partner sees everything. You've gotta trust them implicitly."

 

Which would explain why most of the time, he'd tested it alone.

 

Raleigh gives a light nod, knowing just how hard it is to trust someone these days.

 

Especially someone you'd trust enough with your whole being.

 

"You don't have a Drift partner?"

 

It seems surprising but then again Raleigh doesn't really know Chuck, and judging from the mess he's in with his family, Raleigh can't blame him. He imagines being hurt like that might ruin his chances of Drifting with anyone,  too scared to open up.

 

He can relate.

 

"A single pilot could still handle the neural load-" A questioning look, that's the term, right? "-of something smaller, though. Like a military drone? Would it be like that? Remote control?"

 

And then, because he is actually _really_ interested,

 

"Even if you're in each other's heads..wouldn't you have to fight for dominance? Or do you just..stop being two people?"

 

Chuck nods at the term - yes, neural load is the correct terminology to use.

"Yeah. Theoretically, yeah. And medical equipment, too. This isn't all just military based. Caitlin and I started out trying to completely revolutionize modern medicine. She's a real doctor - I'm the brain behind the mechanics."

He's shaking his head at that last question, though.

"Nah, because that's not the _point_. You go into this knowing it's a partnership, yeah? Everything's equal in the Drift. There _is_ a dominant partner, but it’s just the one that has a steadier mind or is older, more mature but -- you're a team. That's the point. You don't go into the Drift with anyone you're gonna fight with because it just won’t work."

It's a novel idea. Everything that's come out of Chuck's mouth in the last twenty minutes has been novel.

 

This isn't about war, Drift technology is meant for more than that. Medicine, helping people, for all kinds of things. Raleigh wonders why his mind automatically applies it to conflict. Revenge, perhaps.

 

God, what does that say about him?

 

It says he's angry, is what. It says he's been wronged and feels powerless. It also points out the fact he's turned into something of a realist. Tech like this? There's no way the military wouldn't grab it up the second they're able.

 

"How many people know you two have done this?" Raleigh asks and raises an eyebrow. If it was Chuck's project at school, wouldn't the school own it? Had he gotten screwed out of his life's work, too?

 

"Uh."

Chuck kind of...fidgets a little.

"When Doc and I...discovered exactly what we'd done, we sort of..."

He scratches behind his head, fingers digging into his own skin to sort of...ground him out. Chuck shouldn't be telling all this, shouldn't be telling Raleigh at all.

"Worked in secret. My project stayed robotics, but we labeled the results inconclusive and focused my report on the uses of drones, droids, that kind of thing. As far as the general public is concerned, drifting still...isn't possible."

He doesn't really answer the question about how many people know.

But it says enough. Raleigh isn't slow and he knows how to read between the lines.

 

It makes sense, though, wanting to protect his project until he was free of the University and able to continue his work without fear of copyright taking it away from him.

 

So Raleigh nods, and when he does realize just _how_ secret it is, he feels special.

 

"So this is our little secret, then." A little smile playing at his lips, masking over just how excited he really is. Something in his chest swells. Privilege, maybe. Like Chuck sees him.. at least on some level.. as equal enough to entrust him with this secret. Him, who Chuck knows nothing about. How interesting.

 

"I can do that."

 

"...Yeah. Us 'n Caitlin."

The smile on Raleigh's face actually kind of scares Chuck, and he's starting to realize just how much leverage he's given him. It'd be easy to blackmail Chuck now (something he is so, so fucking sick of) and he pulls back in on himself and his face darkens, and he checks his watch.

"You almost done?"

A misunderstanding Raleigh isn't aware of. And probably won't be for a great while. He's nothing but earnestly excited to be privy to Chuck's secret. But, from Chuck's point of view (not that Raleigh is seeing that at all) the admittance was a huge mistake. Blackmail would just be too easy.

A shame, young Hansen. You're so desperate to connect and trust that you blind yourself with hope. No wonder you're in the mess you're in.

Chuck's tone shifts and he closes up. Raleigh raises an eyebrow, wonders if he's done something wrong, and comes back down into the real world.

He'd been enjoying their talk. He'd forgotten he was currently in a hot tub trying to clear his system.

"Huh?"

Like he really has no idea what Chuck is talking about.

"...In there," he gestures to the hot tub, feeling panicky and itchy and in desperate need of a shot of whiskey.

"Can't leave you in here forever."

The tank is waiting.

"Oh.." He wilts, thinking that was very much the plan and the look on his face says as much.

At least for a little while.

"Wait, so what's the plan? I haven't been given a show plan or anything. I don't know what you-" He forcibly stops himself and corrects it out of respect for Chuck's plight.

"-they want me to do."

Chuck's face blackens even more, this is _not his fault_ , he didn't ask to be here, didn't want to be here, didn't buy a goddamn mermaid to put on display for a bunch of sheep minded patrons.

"I don't know," he snaps. "Like I said, I didn't know you were coming, so I'm not prepared. I gotta get the choreographers to figure something out, builders to build tanks. I don't _know_ what to fuckin' do with you right now, mate."

He's getting up and heading for the minibar. He needs a goddamn drink for this shit.

Chuck's hands shake as he pours it, and Raleigh can probably hear glass rattling against glass before he recaps the bottle and downs the drink.

"Hence why I figured I'd be in here for a while." Duh.

 

But it stings more than it should. He'd always, _always_ been appreciated. Even in servitude. Especially in servitude.

 

He's never been treated like this, like some kind of burden.

 

And while he knows he shouldn't snap at Chuck he's just suddenly _so_ angry, reminded of his situation again. Of the lies he's got to tell and the patience he doesn't have to tell them.

 

But he knows the sound of a minibar when he hears one.

 

He lets out a long suffering sigh, something he'd picked up from Yancy and grabs the wheelchair, hefting himself up and in.

 

And then he appears at the juncture of the bathroom and main suite. Unimpressed, eyeing the glass in Chuck's hand.

 

"I know it sounds crazy, but I am a grown man. I am capable of taking care of myself. I realize that you don't want this job and I'm a burden on you and for that I'm sorry, but I have a contract and I intend to fulfill. So you know what? I'll figure it out."

 

And with his speech over he nods towards the drink. "It's sad to drink alone."

 

A contract to fulfill. Chuck laughs, but it lacks mirth.

"You and me both," he says shortly, but he pours another glass and tops his own off before walking over and handing Raleigh the cup of swirling amber liquid.

"'S not just -- _you_ in particular," he says, settling down on the couch and swishing the whiskey. "And you might be a grown man, mate, but there's shit here you're not gonna be able to just figure out."

He palms at his face with his free hand.

"Sorry," he grumbles. "It's not -- your fault."

Raleigh accepts the glass with a nod, having enough sense not to interrupt Chuck's train of thought.

 

The guy is right, after all, he doesn't know anything about this establishment and the more he _does_ learn, the more he thinks it might not be such a great place to be.

 

But, in any case, it seems plain to the both of them that their anger isn't at each other and simply misplaced. It's so much easier to be mad at a someone than a something. A big, great something you can't even begin to tackle.

 

"No. It’s not. But it's not yours, either."

 

A sip and he stares into the glass for a moment.

 

"I guess I'm just not used to being-" unwanted. "Unexpected. People used to re-mortgage their houses to spend time with me. There was a waiting list a year long."

 

Shit, it slipped and his attention snaps to Chuck to see if he can get away with it. His papers say he's always been a merman, not that he's new to this world. And, he's a performer, right? That's his lie to carry? May as well work with what he's got...hollow and stupid as it is.

 

"I wouldn't know what that felt like."

 _That_ slips out before Chuck can think about it and he grimaces because he's not looking for pity and he doesn't want it.

It's true, though. There's not many people that actually like being in Chuck's company - Lightcap was the only exception.

"Year long, huh?"

"Mmhm. I," Raleigh begins, holding up his glass and giving a grin. The first he's actually felt like giving in a long time. "am actually _very_ charming."

 

Chuck watches the glass rise and he starts laughing at that, shaking his head a little bit.

 

So what, he has a nice smile, a fucking amazing torso and…he’s just all around gorgeous.

 

“Are you?” He smirks. “Haven’t seen it yet, mate. Gonna need proof first.”

 

Chuck's laugh only makes Raleigh smile more. _Like bells_ , he thinks.

 

"Well, give me something to talk about that isn't nerdy or completely depressing and I might think about it."

 

A lighthearted challenge. He actually really quite likes it when Chuck talks nerdy to him.

 

Not nerdy or completely depressing.Well that's Chuck's whole life.

"Alright," he says slowly, thinking on it. "Sports. Y'like any?"

"Racing." Raleigh answers. “That's easy. Boats mostly but car, too. Jetskies, flying.. Falconry is fun."

 

Not at all the traditional football or soccer answer but Raleigh had lived in Dubai since he was just a boy and had taken to that life like a..well..bird takes to wings.

 

"I dunno jack shit about any of that."

Bluntly said, that.

"Care to explain any of it?"

Another smile.

 

"You mean to tell me you've never raced a boat?"

 

Chuck shakes his head.

"No. I mean, I've been on a boat, but--"

"You sould. Hair in the wind, fresh chop under the boat. You get your speed up high enough and.." A woosh of breath. "It's amazing. Feels like you're invincible. It feels like freedom.I'll go with you if i'm allowed. Show you the ropes."

"You'd....go boat racing with me."

He says this slowly, like he's trying to comprehend it.

...Which he is, kind of.

It'd be easy enough to get his hands on a boat - it's not like Herc is lacking for money. Chuck _gets paid_ , it's just...not even remotely close to being enough for anyone to live on and so he just uses the corporate black AmEx and his dads stuff when he needs it.

He figures it's owed to him.

"Okay. I mean, it won't be anytime soon. But okay."

Raleigh's smile brightens and he takes another sip of whiskey.

 

They're in Sydney, right? In the belly of a hugely successful business venture, how hard can getting a boat be? How hard is it to sneak off for a few hours to relax and enjoy themselves?

 

"Okay." It's better than a go fuck yourself or get lost. He can be patient. Not as much as Yancy ever was but he's getting better.

 

"I promise you, short of flying? There's no better feeling in the world."

 

Chuck grins.

"Sounds good, mate. We'll make it work."

...Somehow.

Right now though, Chuck's phone is going crazy and when he holds it up he groans, and presses the screen to his forehead.

"You're a popular guy, huh"?

 

Raleigh figures more like overworked.

 

Scott, of course, wants to know where his new pet s. His 'little mermaid'. He saw the tank, what's the hold up c'mon chop chop, let's go. He wants to take some pictures for promo material. Got a costume for him and everything, what's the hold up.

 

"...a costume."

Chuck is incredulous. Raleigh's gorgeous he doesn't _need_ anything ridiculous like that--

"Right. You're needed downstairs. Casino is empty, we shouldn't be bothered. You ready, mate?"

A snort Raleigh kicks back the rest of his drink. Yeah, okay. No dill-dallying around, huh.

 

"Go time." He notes and puts the glass in his lap before turning and returning to the bathroom for the towels they'd traveled up with - still damp.

 

"Do I wanna know what the costume is for?" He asks, wheeling himself back once he'd situated himself.

 

"He didn't say," Chuck said, rolling his eyes.

"But he likes bright, colorful shit. Don't be surprised if he crams you into a flamenco dress."

"Awesome." Said no one ever.

Chuck will get housekeeping to come deal with the mess, right now - they've gotta go deal with Scott.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Raleigh and Chuck make their way downstairs to the tank to meet an annoyed Scott who has been waiting a lot longer than he would like. He seems to approve of Raleigh as they approach and he makes a wheelchair joke before settling a box in his lap. There's a head piece and a complicated bolero that collars around his neck and rests across his shoulders. Ropes of cut crystal beads and pearls with epaulettes decorated in the same with sharp shells pointing outward like spiked armor. With it comes some kind of matching waist chain hip piece thing that he fastens around himself. Wrist cuffs that feel like shackles. A collar.

 

Scott is his master and the man doesn’t even greet him. Doesn’t even acknowledge him past giving him something to wear.

 

He waits, expectant, but Scott moves away to speak with one of the Photographer’s assistants. He is nothing like his last master and the lack of connection is harrowing.

 _He doesn’t love me,_ Raleigh thinks. _I am one of many for him_. It breaks his heart.

 

A makeup artist is there to apply waterproof pigment to his face and body. She pins the crown into his hair and he climbs the ladder on his own, thankful for his upper body strength.

 

“Show business, baby”, Scott says and claps his hands, photographer at the ready.

 

Raleigh is completely out of his element but he tries to handle the shoot well enough. If anything, he is grateful for a tank to actually stretch out in, unfurling his long tail and sighing happily, drifting backwards only to be scolded by the makeup artist for tangling his shoulder piece. He bobs back to the surface for her to fix it and then resubmerges. The photographer adjusts his lights and the shoot starts properly but it’s annoying because Raleigh keeps glancing over towards Scott and Chuck.

Chuck is safety. So long as he’s there…

 

And he is. For now.

 

"I told you this'd be good." Scott says, watching the shoot from a short distance away, and he elbows Chuck in the side with a sharp grin.Even Chuck had to admit Raleigh looks pretty amazing.

 

"You didn't tell me who or what we were getting," Chuck shoots back irritably, picking idly at his arm. "You have no idea what it's gonna cost to accommodate him."

"Aah," Scott waves it off, watching the shoot. "We'll make a million times more. When's the last time we had merfolk in Sydney?"

 

Never, Chuck admits to himself.

 

"Clients are gagging for it, huh Charlie boy? You know what I'm talking about. Make all the fags n' sheilas lose their minds, ain't that right." He answers and teases, moving to ruffle his nephew's hair, ignoring Chuck's disgruntled swat.

 

"Supplier said he was pretty. Glad to see he was right. Paid through the nose for him."

 

Raleigh doesn't hear but he'd be so unimpressed. They have no idea what he's worth.

 

"His papers say he's here because he wants to be," Chuck says flatly. "How much of those are forged and how much did it cost you?"

 

"As much as a regular contract would." Scott answers wryly. He's not an idiot. He knows his brother's wishes, well, ban on “slaves” in favor of contracted workers.

"Of course he wants to be here, look at him."

 

"...Sure he does."

Chuck just shakes his head.

"Am I done here? Do you need anything else?"

Or can he _go now_ please.

"Yeah alright, off you pop."

 

Scott's attention is fully on the shoot. Chuck can fuck off for all that he currently cares, which is a small blessing for the younger man. Raleigh pauses when he sees Chuck depart and for a split second he panics, not having any idea what he's supposed to do when Chuck isn't there. But hadn’t he just made a big deal about being his own man? About being able to take care of himself? What now? Who will take care of him? What is he supposed to do?!

 

He shoots to the glass and presses one hand against it as Chuck goes.

 

Hopefully it won't be too long before the next time they meet.

 

It isn’t until after the shoot that Scott finally approaches Raleigh’s tank and gives him a good look over. The merman sinks to the bottom of his tank to present himself formally, watching with anxiety. You bought him. You made him into this. Are you happy? Do I please you?

 

Scott smiles, arms crossed lightly over his chest. “You did good, petal.”

 

Raleigh nods slightly, relief washing over him. That had been hard to launch into immediately.

 

“Chau said you were a looker. I’m glad we went with the blue tail. Listen, love. This is your new home, yeah? Welcome to the family. I’m expecting big things from you.”

 

His voice is muddled through the glass and water, but he could still be understood well enough and Raleigh nods again.

 

“I’ve got a schedule all set up for you. A choreographer is going to come by later and introduce herself. She’s in charge of your show so you do what she tells you. I expect complete cooperation.”

 

The tone in his voice mixed with the easy smirk makes Raleigh shiver. His training in Dubai had involved discipline but the way Scott speaks.. No, he doesn’t want to disappoint.

 

“Someone is gonna come by with your meals, there are some toys and stuff in your tank. I put some grass in for your to sleep. Chau said you’d like that.”

 

It was just like having a regular fish. Only this one was about ten feet top to tail and had abs that would make a nun cry. Raleigh nodded once more and glances behind him, taking in the tank’s decorations for the first time. The bottom was thick in rocks and sand with implanted greens. Freshwater plants in varying and interesting compositions with huge pieces of artificial coral and drift wood in towerlike structures. There were other fish, too. Little ones. Tiny Tertas and Swordtails and Rainbow fish that darted around. A few Prehistoric Dragon Goby fish were playing hide and seek around a piece of coral while a small school of painted swordtails investigated the artificial starfish in the bottom of the tank.

 

It was all for show but at least it was lively. All set to the gently humming of the massive filtration system keeping it all clean and well oxygenated.

 

“Be a good boy. Do what you’re told and we’ll get on just fine.”

 

“I understand, sir” Raleigh says, adjusting his belt. Satisfied, Scott smiles and places a hand on the tank, knocking a few times with a nod before turning to go. It echos and scares the tetras that have come to investigate Raleigh. He’d be lying if it didn’t scare him a little, too.

 

And then, just like that, he’s alone again. The photographer clears off with his lights and assistants and some casino porters set up a line system with silk ropes so people can come and see him...but that’s it. Those are all the instruction he has. Just..exist? Just sit there?

 

He guesses so. People begin to gather as he thinks. He doesn’t want to be seen right now. He doesn’t want to be viewed. He wants to be alone. He wants to think.

 

But that isn’t a choice. And it isn’t going to be a choice for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Mako doesn’t come until the following day.

 

Raleigh is woken up by a porter with breakfast early the next morning, The food is perched on a plank the way Chuck had done for him before and he guesses that makes sense. It’s really the only way to go about it.

 

He’s never felt more trapped.

 

When he’s done he retreats back into the small shelter afforded by the wood and coral, watching the large clock on the wall of the Casino lobby. 6:37AM. He digs some of the pebbles out from under the structure and rips up a large piece of soft water grass from the other side of his tank to carpet the rocks. It’s something.

 

He doesn’t move until 8, curled tightly in the nest he’s made. At precisely 8:15 a woman approaches his tank and stands, admiring it. Raleigh watches her cautiously. She catches her eye and beckons him with a small gesture, pointing upwards that he might come and talk to her.

 

She is small, he thinks. East asian with a sharp bob and brightly colored highlights. Beautiful but slightly terrifying. The casino isn’t open yet so she must be an employee of some sort, dressed in black cigarette pants and a plain but tailored blouse of the same color.

 

Raleigh creeps from his protection and floats to the surface, to join her after she climbs the ladder up the side.

 

“Good morning, Titan. My name is Mako,” she says with a pleasant, polite smile. “I am your choreographer. It is a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Hansen speaks very highly of you.”

 

Raleigh smiles back and takes the hand she offers. He’s had limited interactions with women but she seems nice. He marvels at how strong her grip is despite her tiny hands.

 

“We are going to make a great show, together.”

 

He likes how confident she sounds and he nods again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too” he finally answers.

 

“Lets get to work then, shall we? I have some music but first I want to see some of your previous work. So give me what you know and we will go from there.”

 

Raleigh freezes. Previous work? He- _what?_

 

“Mako-” He starts, stopping her as he climbs back down the ladder. “I’m wild, remember? I’ve never done this before.”

 

Mako stops, brow furrowing. “Isn’t your contract for performance?”

 

“Entertainment, but I wasn’t given any other details.”

 

And and entertainment contract could mean a great many things.

 

“I was told you were a contracted performer.”

 

“Then you should read my papers.” Raleigh says after a moment of hesitation.

 

The way Mako looks at him makes him want to run back to his nest and never come out. Confusion first, then anger, then disappointment,. There’s been a huge mix-up somewhere. Raleigh hears Scott’s voice in his head. Scott who said he was supposed to be good for her. Cooperate.

 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Just tell me what to do?”

 

“I suppose that is all I can do.” Mako answers, the edge in his voice is sharp. He already feels like a failure.

 

* * *

 

“Drinking on the job, Hansen?” Mako asks, having found him in his hidey hole out behind the warehouse. No one knows about the spot but the few employees Chuck keeps in shipping and Mako, herself. But they’ve known each other for years. He can’t hide from her, as much as he'd like to be able to sometimes.

 

“Aren’t you going to share?”

 

Chuck flicks his eyes up at her when she approaches and grouses to himself, gesturing for her to sit down, bottle between them, handheld loosely resting in his lap. To most people he would just say 'fuck off' and be done with it, but he's known Mako a long time.

 

"If I gotta."

 

She smirks and gives a small huff of a laugh before sitting, plucking up the bottle to look at it’s label and taking a swig directly from it. Mako coughs and wipes her mouth.

 

“This is stronger than when we were teenagers.” But she takes another swig, the amber spirit burning every inch on it’s way down to rest warm in her belly.

 

"Y'think so?" It's not a sarcastic question. When he was younger and sneaking sips from his old mans stash, it always seemed to burn like hell on the way down.

 

Maybe he was just numb to it by now. He's rapidly approaching month five, and the tick marks on his calendar are burned into his visage. It's all he can think about, how long he's got left. Overwhelming, sometimes.

 

“A little bit, I think. Or we have graduated to a higher shelf.”

 

He snorts, because yeah - here in hell, you drink high priced liquor that most people can only dream of.

 

He stays silent for a tick, reaching for the bottle back to take a pull, swishing it in his mouth until his eyes water, then swallowing.

 

"What d'you want, Maki?"

 

She's not here to hang out and drink. She's upset, or she wants something. Mako’s tells are obvious when you've known her as long as Chuck has and she shoots him a look of annoyance. She can only correct him over a nickname for so many years before giving up. And besides, he’s right.

 

“Someone is lying to me about Titan. He and his papers say he is wild but he is clearly not. I was expecting a contracted performer and he isn’t one, but he is not wild. No one has seen a wild merfolk for years and no wild merfolk would take a job like this.”

 

"Course they are," Chuck says, rubbing his thumb over the lip of his bottle. "Told me the same thing an' I called him on the bullshit but he won't fess. Keeps saying he wants to be here."

 

He drums his fingers idly against the plastic screen of his handheld, absently passing her the bottle again.

 

"Reckon something went down..maybe he's payin' off family debt or something. I dunno. This whole..thing is a crock of shit."

 

Merfolk. Bird people. Cat girls. Mods. Slavery disguised as indentured servitude. Mako takes another sip, considering Chuck’s words.

 

“But why lie to us? To the public, perhaps, but to us? It is obvious. I have been working with him for a week now and it is clear he was human. _Is_.” She quickly corrects. They are still human. Mods are human regardless of what they had done to themselves or what has been done to them. A subject that is very close to her heart for personal reasons.  

 

"Yeah. He's pretty cognizant."

 

Raleigh isn't wild in the way that one would assume someone like him would be. Should be.

 

"I guess if you're gonna lie to one, you lie to 'em all. Keep it consistent."

 

“Mm..” Mako hums, fingers tapping a rhythm on her knee. “Perhaps he owes Hannibal Chau a debt. The scars on his body do not look natural.”

 

"Might."

 

Chuck doesn't seem completely convinced, but without Raleigh himself fessing up..it's impossible to know.

 

He knocks another shot back.

 

"His name is Raleigh, by the way. It's not really Titan. I think he likes being called by his real name, at least by his handlers."

 

“Raleigh. I see. He has never corrected me.”

 

"Probably doesn't think he's allowed to." Chuck shrugs. "Can't claim to read his mind, though."

 

“No, I suppose not.” A beat. “He has asked about you. It seems you have made quite an impression.”

 

"Me?" Surprise floods his face, a faint blush tinging his cheeks - something easily attributed to alcohol.

 

"What'd he say?"

 

“He asked after your health. And asked me to give you his thanks for your assistance.” Mako answers matter of fact before looking over with a wide grin. “He was like a puppy. I think he likes you~”

 

She sees the blush on his cheeks and grins wider.

 

“You should go and talk to him.”

 

Shut up, Mako.

 

But, yet--

 

"Yeah, alright," Chuck says, like its no big thing. "Maybe I will."

 

Satisfied, Mako nods and takes one last sip from the bottle before getting up. “You should. I will see you at dinner.”

 

* * *

 

It takes a while for Chuck to find a minute to stop by.

He's got a lot to do - a lot to coordinate. You can't just stick a merman into a tank in the middle of a crowded hotel and not expect a million issues with crowd control and mobs of people trying to get a better look. It's utter hell and Chuck is bogged down with warnings from the fire marshal and hiring new people into security and negotiating the purchase of land as well as contracting builders to make Raleigh's tanks as fast as possible.

On top of everything else, he has to deal with Scott as well as do his job in shipping and monitor all of _that_.

He's busy. He waves to Raleigh when he passes by, but he can never stop.

Titan, they call him. Jewel of The Pacific. Jewel of Lucky 7. One of a kind.

 

The crowd's reaction is exactly as Scott thought it would be. The pictures go up that night and simply put? People are going fucking nuts. Foot traffic has almost tripled which means sales are through the roof. There's promo material all over the place, souvenirs, for $100 you can even get your picture taken. And everyone gets their picture taken.

 

They have to expand the gift shop and it's hard to keep the shelves stocked. T shirts, mugs, keychains, all kinds of merman shit is trucked in from China. Plushie starfish, clown fish, even merfolk which are blonde and therefore close enough to resemble their star. You can even buy a little outfit like the one Raleigh had been made to wear complete with Lord of The Rings style head piece. And that's just inside the casino.

You're lucky to escape Raleigh's face in the city, either. They've bought up double advertising and he's plastered all over billboards, busses, magazines. But for all the expense? _They're making money._

Complete douchebag, sure, maybe, but Scott knows a thing or two about people and shmoozing and how to create the buzz that puts food on their table and coke up his nose. And you know what? He's phenomenal at it. Which is great because Herc can hardly speak ten words to the PR department without getting frustrated. Networking is an actual living hell but he's practical and organized and isn't afraid to get tough so between them? They're building something of an empire. It's maybe easy to see how he might miss his brother’s shenanigans, busy as he is with making everything else tick over.

And Raleigh, himself, finds he isn't as completely miserable as he thought he'd be. It's not the same, it will never be the same, and he’s scared but he feels appreciated again - even if it's just on a very _very_ surface level. He chats with clients about this and that between shows he's painstakingly put together with Mako. The routine is simple but he’s learning. And much to his great relief he finds he actually enjoys the water. He enjoys Mako pushing him. It’s stimulating.

He does a show every few hours and catches little naps in between. It doesn't stop the crowds, though. They're happy just to look at him.

He looks more a performer, now, as the weeks pass by. More comfortable, more willing. It isn’t often but he always makes the effort to wave or at least catch Chuck's eye with a nod when he sees the youngest Hansen passing through the lobby floor.

It's not until evening and several weeks later during a little break in between shows that they have a moment to speak. Raleigh sees Chuck the moment he comes into the room and watches out of the corner of his eye until he's close enough to engage. He shoots to the top of the tank and grins, whistling for attention and flicking a handful of water at him.

Chuck’s looking pretty harried and almost doesn't stop; they’re the busiest they’ve _ever_ been and it’s a nightmare for him and a dream for the customers. It’s a right pain in the ass in shipping and receiving too – and he’s been fairly scarce. Not to mention that there’s practically a mini sea world being built behind the hotel for Raleigh’s sanity. He’s supervising that, too.

He’s barreling through the casino right past Raleigh’s tank when he hears the whistle and he stops, getting a face full of water. Chuck sputters and jumps, flailing a little bit before looking up with a scowl.

“….Thanks, mate.”

"Any time,”  Raleigh laughs, something light and genuine.

Behind him there are three dozen or so people waiting to meet him but he's not interested in it at the moment. He can have thirty seconds to himself. He’s learned it makes him more desirable.

"When are you gonna come see me?" He asks, tail gently swaying from side to side.

Chuck would be pissed under other circumstances - like, if anyone but Raleigh had hit him with a face full of water? He'd be swinging on them, no question - but instead he's half smiling, dimples briefly deepening before disappearing.

"Why, you miss me, baby?" Chuck drawls and winks, much to the amusement of the people in line.

He takes hold of the metal bars on the side of Raleigh's tank that serve as a ladder and scrambles up to meet him at the top to talk for a minute.

"Well, your tanks are ready." Chuck gestures absently behind him. "You won't be on display 24/7 like you are now, at least. You'll have somewhere to sleep without people poking at the glass. Time off, kinda."

Chuck himself doesn't really get days off, but sometimes... _sometimes_ Scott will clap him on the shoulder and give him a shake and tell him he's running himself ragged and he needs to go have a few and get laid, and he'll press a few big bills into Chuck's hand and send him off, telling him to buy

He's currently got a couple hundreds in his pocket - which he had thought about hanging on to and sticking in a savings account to maybestart paying some of his 'debt' off to get free but when he calculated it, that four hundred bucks will get him out about a day early.

"I'll have to swing by and check on things anyway, I'll say hi when I do, yeah?"

"I miss it when you talk nerdy to me." Raleigh slings back lightly, an in joke just for them.

But his tanks are ready? "That's great."

 

And it is. He can't wait to see them and garner a little privacy. Because as nice as all this attention is, news crews and pictures and thousands and thousands and _thousands_ of people, it is literally non stop.

"Yeah, I'd like that. When do I get to see them?"

 

“When I have time to take you,” Chuck sing songs, leaning on the edge of the tank and smirking at Raleigh.

"Well, you're the asset manager, aren't you. I'm your asset. Come and manage me.” And there’s a tone in his voice, quiet and husked that has too many layers of possible meaning for Chuck to handle.

It’s – not really a joke though, not having time. Because Scott is more than happy to leave Raleigh on display all the time; he and Chuck have had a lot of arguments about this.

_”That’s what he’s here for!”_

_“I don’t fuckin care, Scott! You can’t leave him out there like that all the time!”_

_“Why the hell not? He’s fine!”_

_“He’s TIRED. He’s constantly on display, he—“_

_“That’s WHY HE’S HERE—“_

_“You’re gonna work him into exhaustion. What’re you gonna tell Dad if he gets sick? If you push him too far, and he has a mental breakdown? What then?”_

 

“You aren’t my only asset,” he points out, though Raleigh’s right. _In addition_ to all that shit he has to do in the warehouse, he’s also stuck with managing most of Scott’s ‘assets’ – people, drugs, whatever.

“But I suppose it’s time for a review. I’ll move you tonight, yeah?”

"It'll have to be after the midnight show." Raleigh answers, pondering. That gives them four or five hours.

"Sure." Chuck answers.

"Will a porter be running me every day?"

"For now." He pinches the bridge of his nose and leans heavily on the edge of the tank. “I’m gonna have a tunnel built that connects this tank with the ones outside. Your own little habitrail.”

Chuck taps his palm on the edge of the glass.

"I gotta run, and you've got some pretty ladies that'd like a picture. I'll be back at one to get you, alright?” Chuck winks at the women standing in line and they giggle.

"Don't be jealous, Chuck, it doesn't suit you." He answers with a small smile and drops back from the side. "See you later."

And then he's back to work, rolling through the water with an incredible amount of grace and agility to settle at the bottom and play pattycake with a little girl standing at the glass. She can't be more than four or five and is wearing a shirt with his face on it. He can't help but pay her some special attention.

"Yeah, yeah. Later."

Chuck's got work to do and if he's going to play porter tonight for Raleigh then he's got to go get his shit done so he can do that.

And maybe blackmail talk his buddy Tendo into covering the warehouse night shift so he can be there to not only get Raleigh, but catch the tail end of his show.

 


End file.
